Morning
by Flotation Device
Summary: He'd be infuriating if he wasn't so warm. But it's cold outside, and the butterfly whispers on her neck are intoxicating...


**So, I rediscovered my love for CotT. But really. It's an irresistable show (and it helps that I'm completely in love with Archie).**

**I felt more like writing something mello, this time, so it's just simple morning musings from Atlanta's bleary, Archie-filled mind.**

**Enjoy!**

It takes Atlanta a while to register that she is _awake_. Waking up today is like being dragged slowly through a dense haze of colours and images, not really struggling but not moving of her own free will, either. For a couple of minutes, she is blissfully unaware of trivial things such as the time, place, or situation she is in. The world can wait. Up and down are merely vague notions- where did her right foot go, again? Her left foot is feeling a little lost, too. In fact, everything about her is feeling fairly detached.

She is not sure at which point, exactly, Herry ceased paddling down the river Styx in a teacup, but her bed is awfully cold and Neil is still winking at her from his perch on the griffin in corner of her eye. Groaning, she fumbles for the covers and pulls them back over her head.

It's a lost cause. The covers are cold as well, and there's no getting back to sleep now.

The door opens slowly (and she knows because she can hear it), and the intruder pauses only to shut it before coming slowly towards her. She listens carefully, hunter instincts working overtime. Judging by the weight and slight unevenness of the footsteps, she judges that it's Archie. In a moment of confusion, she surfaces from her morning fog to think about this. Yes, he does normally do this. _Right_.

Gradually, she becomes aware of the fact that she is now warm. Delightfully warm. There's something heavy draped across her stomach, and something else is leaving butterfly whispers along her neck. She breathes in, and notes the distinct smell of sleep that is not her own. Much better.

The butterflies begin to move further down her shoulder, then trail back up her neck to behind her ear. A lick to her earlobe. A kiss to her temple. Giggling breathily, she pushes blearily at something very warm and _very _solid behind her. It vibrates with what she assumes is a chuckle, she takes his moment of weakness as an opportune moment to slip out from under his arm, rolling into the cold, fresh air.

It hits her body in a wave, stinging beautifully. The lingering ghosts of the butterflies burn, all on her neck and shoulder, and she finds herself stretching before she realizes what she's doing. The coolness slips under her shirt. She wiggles her toes at it.

Finally, she opens her eyes, ready to face the world. Ahead of her, the closed window shows nothing but a ferocious flurry of snow, rushing past the glass. Her room is dark and bluish, and she turns around lazily to find a boy lying on her bed, propping himself up on his elbow. He's watching her with the barest trace of a smile on his crooked lips. (_His lips_…)

She spins away from him daintily, sauntering over to the bathroom. She's upset that she doesn't hear him get up and follow her. He's gotten better.

She watches him sitting on the bathtub rim through the mirror. While she's brushing her teeth, she lets her eyes wander over his bare shoulders, so pale and smooth. She loves his shoulders. She notes the dip in his collarbone, his long neck, his sharp jaw leading up to his ear. He glances up at her from his hands and smiles silently. So silent this morning. Have they even said a word to each other?

After washing her face, she runs a hand through her hair. She's cut it shorter, recently, and she likes the way it sticks up sometimes. Although, she notes, she's got nothing on his hair.

Getting up, he lets her pass through the doorway first, like a gentleman. She can feel his heat radiating as she brushes past him. Has he always been this warm? She is just barely through the doorway when he's suddenly right behind her again, but he collapses back on to the bed as she passes it. She, instead, heads to her closet.

The doors are dark and wooden, a warm colour, and she swings them open as quietly as she can. She's facing away from him, yet she can hear his breathing, slow and steady, from across the room. He's a nice boy, so he flicks the light on for her. Open the underwear drawer, select a bra. Easy. She breathes once, slips her t-shirt over her head pulls on her bra in as little time as possible, without seeming too rushed. It's blue, and it matches her panties. She wiggles her bum at him, because she knows he's watching, and elicits a hoarse laugh.

'So where did everyone go?' she asks softly, hunting for a t-shirt. Somehow, she feels as though it's late morning already.

'Theresa and Jay are out on a date, somewhere.' His voice is just as low, just as gentle. 'Neil's at a shoot. The boys are having a war with some kids at school.' She can hear the smile in his voice, before he yawns.

'Guess you're stuck with me, huh?'

His arms are wrapped around her, out of nowhere. Where did he learn to be so sneaky? Before she has time to ask, his lips are on hers from above. She turns around slowly, facing him. He's so delightfully warm, and she can feel his heart pulsing underneath her fingers.

Speaking of fingers, his seem to be dancing underneath the hem of her shirt, inching higher along her back.

'Stop that,' she says, pulling away playfully. 'I just put that on.' He groans at her, placing his head against her neck in mock-defeat to hide his smile. As he's doing it, though, she can feel his hands brushing softy along her hips. Her thighs.

'So?' he mumbles, tickling her. She pushes him away again, hands on her hips, pretending his touch doesn't give her shivers. He's been getting bolder, lately, and she's not quite sure how to react sometimes. So, she pretends to glare and him and spins around, looking for sweatpants. She's too hazy to care too much about how she looks.

The light in her room is yellow, and it fills her with a touch of nostalgia for something she can't quite put her finger on. She finds the pants and pulls them on, one leg at a time, effectively obscuring her bare skin from Archie's searing gaze. She can see the disapproval in his eyes.

'Now why would you go and do that?' he grumbles. He's giving her a Herry look (because when you live with someone so closely, habits start to rub off), and she finds it almost irresistible. Almost.

'Cause I don't have time to play around with a dork like you all day.'

He frowns, and takes her into his arms again. He nestles his face into her hair this time, and she trails her hands up and down his rounded arms and his beautiful shoulders. His skin is like silk, and she adores it. 'That's ridiculous,' he says.

'Yeah?' She's mumbling into the heat of his chest, which is a little distracting when she's trying to say no.

'Yeah. We got all the time in the world, love.' Agh, this boy would be infuriating if she wasn't so warm and comfortable. Are they swaying? It's all so lovely, she can't really bring herself to find out. The wonderful nostalgic light makes everything look soft and sunny. She wants to believe him, but she also wants to eat.

'Then we can do this later.'

Suddenly, he pulls away and jumps on to the bed. He appears to be trying to drown himself in her pillows. She laughs, because he's adorable, and he looks up just long enough to give her the most effective pout she's ever seen. Her hips sway as she glides over to the door. 'Come on,' she says coaxingly.

'No.' Stubborn as always, apparently.

'Didn't Athena make pancakes?' She can see that he doesn't want to give in. That he doesn't want to lose. But no mere mortal can resist the goddess' pancakes, no matter how stubborn. She sees him push himself up, walk to the door, and head to the kitchen. She's not sure at which point, exactly, he managed to attack her with that line of breathtaking kisses.

Jay and Theresa stumble in as her lips are still searing, but she's really too warm to care.

* * *


End file.
